particularly important during times of new challenges and transition,
hereby making its first appearance as a post title, and
two words I saw in a store, last night.
Do you agree that “No judgment” should be the only one real rule to any game? What’s your judgment about that? Is having no judgment even a possibility for us human beings? Is it something we should strive for?
Would you have no judgment if I asked you to judge the photos in this allegedly no-judgment post?
Personally, as the end of 2015 approaches, I would like to strive for no judgment about:
what I have or have not done in the past,
my capabilities, as I try my best in many different arenas, and
Christmas monkeys and other puzzlements.
No judgment from me about any thought, feeling, or judgment you leave in a comment, here and now.
No judgment, but yes gratitude, for another day of life.
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, here are facts you should know, no matter what your age:
That is a very unlikely and uncharacteristic post title here, considering this blog is about letting go of judgment (including shoulds).
That is a very unlikely and uncharacteristic post title here, considering I rarely write about age.
That is a very unlikely and uncharacteristic post title here, considering its focus on facts (without feelings).
That uncharacteristic and unlikely title was inspired by two signs I saw yesterday:
No matter when you were born, is there a fact you think others should know? If there is, you should know this as a fact: I would love for you to include that (or anything else) in a comment.
Since I do believe there are facts that can be helpful (although you should know, if you read my blog, that I avoid the word “should”), here are some things I do know, here and now:
There was rain, yesterday, in Boston, Massachusetts, USA.
People (including me) often take photos near Fenway Park.
Yesterday, there were only four candies and two colors in a candy bowl at work.
There is greenery (and pinkery) inside and outside in Boston, during this time of the year.
Stairs are still not easy for me, in June of 2015.
My discomfort with stairs may be a result of (1) my age, (2) my recovery from cardiac-related surgery last month, and/or (3) the possibility that I should be exercising more.
My discomfort with stairs, last year, did not interfere with my enjoyment of the Festival Fringe in Edinburgh, Scotland.
This is a prediction (rather than a fact), but I believe that discomfort with stairs will NOT interfere with my enjoyment of the 2015 Festival Fringe, when my 17-year-old son Aaron and I return there, in two months.
Here’s another fact you should know (if you read this blog): I like to include music here.
When I woke up this morning, on my first day back in Boston after a two-week adventure in California, I KNEW I had left something behind there.
I don’t mean that I left my heart in San Francisco, although I love that area of the country so much, I am instituting a 1.5 year plan to move there, after my son graduates high school and leaves for college.
No, when I woke up, I thought
I left the power cord for my laptop at my friend Lawry’s house.
And I could visualize and play back the exact moment when I needed to remember to pack it, but didn’t .
So, while I’m writing this, I have 20% of my laptop battery left, so I need to act fast and efficiently to get this post out to you today, people.
Ooops! It’s 19%, now.
So, I can’t put too much stuff in this post. But I will say these things:
We have too much stuff to keep track of, so it’s inevitable that we’re going to forget and leave things behind, sometimes, and
I’ve had too much stuff on my mind lately, and I really appreciated the time away in California as a way to breathe, relax, learn, connect with people, and get back in touch with my priorities.
Ooops! 17% battery power and the indicator on my laptop had TURNED RED!
I have too much stuff I wanted to show you visually today, too. But I’m just going to show you this, which I saw from the “airtrain” I took yesterday from the rental car place to San Francisco Airport:
That’s a good sign, isn’t it?
My battery is at 13% (my laptop battery, NOT my pacemaker battery, thank goodness), so I’m going to publish this sucker for you all. Next step? Finally, making it to the Apple Store, where I have other business to take care of.
And since one of my priorities and relearned goals from this trip is to ask for help, could somebody post an appropriate song in the comments?
12% … so I just want to thank each and every one of you, for visiting here today.
I interrupt this blog post to tell you that I have no idea how I am going to shape this story well enough, especially since I am prone to interrupting thoughts AND I have a lot of thoughts about the topic of “Interrupting.”
For example, I want to interrupt, right now, to mention that one of my favorite knock-knock jokes has to do with interrupting. Let me interrupt the writing of this blog post to see if that knock-knock joke lives, anywhere, on YouTube.
It does!
The “Interrupting Cow” joke, as told by South Park characters, lives here on YouTube. I first heard that joke on “Dr. Katz, Professional Therapist.” Let me interrupt this interruption to see if I can find that.
I tend to interrupt others and myself when I (a) am anxious, (2) have a lot on my mind, (3) understand the point somebody is making and want to move on, and (4) am stalling for time, when I’m not sure how to tell a story (like now).
I imagine some of you might be interrupting this post now, thinking
What the *(*#@%!?@)* happened with the cardiologists yesterday, Ann?????
Ann and Some Cardiologists, Yesterday
by Ann
The first cardiologist I saw yesterday was somebody I met on Monday, for the first time.
Let me interrupt this story to give you some context, to why I am seeing a bevy** of cardiologists, these days. I and a herd** of cardiologists are trying to figure out (1) what is going on with my very unusual heart and (2) what to do about that.
The cardiologist I met for the first time, on Monday, is named Dr. Mark Z. I am not disguising his name to protect his identity, I just can’t remember his last name. It’s too long.
I don’t think cardiologists should be allowed to have long names, should they?
Man, I don’t know where THAT interrupting thought came from. It doesn’t even make sense.
Anyway, so I met Dr. Mark Z for the first time on Monday. He was part of a team** of cardiologists, whom my primary cardiologist, Dr. Deeb Salem, wanted me to meet with.
I interrupt this post to tell you my first impression of Dr. Mark Z. I didn’t particularly like him.
he asked me a question that I experienced as challenging and not completely respectful, and, most importantly,
he was a member of a pack** of cardiologists whom I was meeting for the first time, and even though I am a group therapist and I passionately believe in the healing power of groups, a group of unknown people makes people nervous.
I interrupt this story to bring you the interchange between me and Dr. Z., on Monday, so you can decide for yourself about it (although if you were there in the examining room and heard everybody’s tone of voice and saw everybody’s body language, you might come to different conclusions):
Me: This is why I think I am not feeling as well, lately. Because I am in atrial fibrillation, my pacemaker can’t speed up on hills and stairs …
Dr. Mark Z (interrupting): How do you know that?
Me: (giving him a dirty look, because I hate being interrupted, especially by doctors, because I’ve been dealing with this my WHOLE FRIGGIN’ LIFE): Because I can feel it. And, I take my pulse.
Dr. Mark Z: Oh.
I interrupt this post with the realization that Dr. Mark Z might NOT have been disrespectful or doubting of me or dense or anything else judgmental I might think of him. He might just have been doing what I do, sometimes: interrupting to get more information.
The group** of cardiologists I saw, on Monday — of which Dr. Z. was one — decided that I needed more tests to ascertain whether I need heart surgery, which could be
valve replacement surgery or
a heart transplant
I have already gotten different opinions about this, depending upon whom I talk to, among the pride** of cardiologists involved in my story.
Dr. Mark Z., who is a pediatric cardiologist, offered his opinion on Monday that I needed yet another echocardiogram, before any of the swarm** of cardiologists involved in my life could figure out what to do with me. Before I could ask, “Why?”, he told me that the special echocardiogram they have in the pediatric division of Tufts Medical Center (where my usual congregation** of cardiologists practice) might give more useful information about my heart than the usual echocardiogram I get, every six months or so.
I interrupt this post to explain that droves** of cardiologists have trouble deciding (1) what is going on with my heart and (2) what to do next because
in my heart, the ventricles and the valves are doing work that they are not designed to do, which is exceedingly rare, and
nobody can get good friggin’ pictures of what’s going on with me, in order to decide about next steps, because everything is in a different place, heart-wise. (Pardon this interruption, but when I said to the nice woman doing my echocardiogram yesterday, “my heart is not photogenic,” she replied, “yes, your heart is not echo-genic.”)
I interrupt that interruption to tell you that when I showed up for my echocardiogram in Pediatrics Cardiology yesterday, and the nice people at the desk did not seem to know why I was there, I said — interrupting their work:
” You’re not used to seeing people my size, are you?”
“You don’t know why I’m here, do you?”
“Would you like me to give you a clue about who scheduled this echocardiogram for me?”
“On Monday, I saw a doctor named Mark who never smiled, and he wanted me to get this echo done here, today.”
I definitely saw smiles on some faces when I described Dr. Mark Z that way, and after waiting for a short time (during which I snapped this photo, in the waiting room of Pediatric Cardiology):
… I was ushered into a room with Dr. Mark Z.’s extra special echocardiogram machine:
…which to me, didn’t look particularly special, but I have to have faith that my committee** of cardiologists knows what they’re doing.
I didn’t take the name or photos of the nice woman (mentioned above in a previous interruption) who did the echocardiogram on me, yesterday. The test took a long time, as it usually does, because of my unusual anatomy. In the course of the test, we discussed many things, including:
my experience of other echocardiograms in my life (and I have had a flock** of those, believe me),
my son, and
her teenagers.
After the echocardiogram was over, Dr. Mark Z made another appearance in my life and told me, in no uncertain terms, that he and a surgeon had looked at the pictures of my heart and, in his opinion, I needed
heart valve surgery and
ASAP (probably next month).
When I was talking to Dr. Mark Z about this, I expressed many feelings, including fear and sadness, and I told him about some difficult experiences I had, as a child, when doctors didn’t know much about how to deal with kids with cardiac problems. Dr. Mark Z was very sympathetic. At one point, he said to me, “Do you want a toy?” which struck me as very kind.
I said, “Of course.”
Here are some photos of Dr. Mark Z., giving me a toy:
As you can see, I was wrong about Dr. Z never smiling. He also gave me a free t-shirt:
which reminds me of another time I got a free t-shirt but — don’t worry — I’m not interrupting this story to tell you that one.
After the echocardiology test, I had an appointment to see Dr. Deeb Salem. Let me interrupt this post now, to tell you some important facts about Dr. Salem:
When I was in my 20’s, I decided to leave Children’s Hospital in Boston and choose a cardiologist I wanted to work with, now that I was an adult,
I interviewed several cardiologists at several famous hospitals in Boston,
I chose Dr. Salem, because he treated me with respect and said things like “You know more about your situation than I do” and “You’re obviously very smart,” and
he was obviously very smart.
On my walk to see Dr. Salem, after the echocardiogram and the discussion with Dr. Mark Z, I was trying to adjust to the idea that I was going to need major heart surgery and soon. As I had admitted to Dr. Z., I have a lot of fear about heart surgery, because of experiences I had as a kid.
Then, I had a looong meeting with Dr. Salem. We interrupted each other a lot, as we always do. At one point, he interrupted me to tell me that he always schedules me as his last appointment of the day, to give us time to talk.
Here is Dr. Salem, being interrupted by a phone call from his son:
I could hear his son, during this phone conversation, asking his father about a worrisome stomach problem he was having. Dr. Salem and his son kept interrupting each other, and I kept laughing, as I was listening to them. When Dr. Salem hung up, here’s what we said to each other:
Dr. Salem: Let me ask you this. Who do you think, out of all my children, reminds me most of you?
Me: That one. I was thinking, “He interrupts you more than I do!”
Dr. Salem: Yes. That was my son, Michael. He is very smart and he asks a lot of questions. Thank you for helping me prepare for Michael.
I can’t tell you everything Dr. Salem and I talked about yesterday. I don’t have time. I mean, we talked for way over an hour!!
I have to interrupt the telling of this story, so I can get to work on time.
However, I do want to interrupt any conclusions you might have drawn about what is going to happen to me in my heart in the near future by letting you know all this:
Dr. Salem thinks that the data is still inconclusive.
He discontinued one of the heart medications the committee** of cardiologists started on Monday, because (a) it was making me feel sick and (b) it’s probably not going to help that much, at this point,
He went over all the possible and likely outcomes for my future, including (a) heart valve replacement and (b) heart transplant,
He doesn’t think surgery needs to be done in January,
He knows that I am seeking a second opinion from yet another cardiologist at my old hospital, Boston Children’s Hospital, and he said, “If you like this guy, tell him I would be happy to talk to him,” and
Even though we talked about very scary things, I believed, at the end of this conversation, that Dr. Salem will do everything in his power to meet my request: “I want to live as long as possible.”
I interrupt this post to tell you this. After seeing Dr. Salem yesterday, I feel MUCH BETTER.
Feel free to interrupt with any comments, whatsoever.
Ooops! I forgot to interrupt this post with more photos from yesterday:
What song would I like to interrupt this post with, now? I honestly can’t remember, at this point, what songs I heard yesterday. Are there any songs I know about “Interrupting”? Can’t remember that, either.
How about this one, about gratitude?
(If you want to interrupt your reading of this post to find “Thank You,” performed live by Sly and the Family Stone on YouTube, look here.)
Thank you to the gaggle** of doctors I have seen over the last 61 years — most especially Dr. Deeb Salem — and to you, for reading this interrupting post so kindly and patiently, with or without interruptions.
* The Interrupting Abe Lincoln and Interrupting Therapist jokes include these lines: (1) “Four score and seven years ago” and (2) “We have to stop now.”
** While that first footnote would have been a perfect way to end this post, I need to interrupt here to direct you to this Wikipedia page, for collective nouns like “bevy,” “gaggle,” “team,” “committe,” “flock” etc.
Why do people (including me) focus on what’s undone, rather than noticing what IS done?
Do you focus on what you’ve left undone, rather than giving yourself credit for what you’ve done? Think about this: every time you make a choice to do something, the things you are NOT doing instead are …..
infinite.
Infinite things can be very overwhelming and can make people feel undone, don’t you think? For example, I had a discussion yesterday, at work, with my friend Jan, about Infinity Scarves:
(I’m done, here, including the link for that photo) (in the past, I’ve come undone about giving credit correctly)
Neither Jan, another great nurse named Arvetta,* nor I want anything to do with those infinity scarves, which look like they’re infinitely difficult to do and undo.
Besides agreeing with Jan and Arvetta about infinty scarves (and other things), here’s something else I did at work yesterday — individual therapy with several people. Every person I saw was painfully aware of what he or she was NOT doing. As a result of those kinds of self-judgmental thoughts, all these people seemed somewhat undone — that is, overwhelmed, lost, depressed, and anxious. When I invited them to look at what they have been doing — and to be more generous, kind and forgiving with themselves — they all seemed to feel better by the time they were done talking to me.
Sometimes, when we undo old habits and try new ones, we encounter unexpected surprises, challenges, and obstacles.
I just encountered an unexpected surprise, challenge and obstacle, when I searched for the song “Undone” on YouTube.
I was momentarily undone, when I discovered that great blast from the past is really spelled …
“Undun.” (I wonder if using spaces like that — for emphasis and suspense — which has already been done in this blog post, is effective. No matter what, I’m not going to undo them.)
Yes, I am a little undone that “Undun” — which, since 1969, I thought was spelled “Undone” — is spelled that way.
What** in this wide dun-green-and-blue-world does “undun”even mean? Is it the opposite of dun?
Here’s what I should probably do next, in this post: include a definition of dun. Definitions have definitely been done before, in The Year(s) of Living Non-Judgmentally (like, two days ago).
However, I don’t want to include any on-line definitions in this post today. Been there, done that. (And as I’ve done before in this blog, I want to remind you that being aware of what you want, and expressing that, helps you avoid becoming undone.)
But before this post is done, I want to give you some idea about what “dun” means. Here’s something I haven’t done yet: checked recent pictures on my iPhone, to see if any of them include the color dun. If they do, I can also be done with the photographic portion of my daily post.
Yay!
That meal — with some colors close to dun — was done by Michael, last night, for me and my son Aaron. When I was done, all those colors were wiped clean from that plate.
Is my defining dun done?
If so, that still leaves this task undone: deciding whether to undo what I’ve done in this post so far — in any way — or somehow proceed from here, writing about “undun and/or “undone.”
Honestly, I don’t think I should write a post about “Undun.” Writing about the opposite of a color is just not done.
Should I undo my intention of using the song “Undun” and see if there’s a song somebody else has done, titled “Undone”?
I don’t want to do that, either.
Will I do any harm, if I publish this post with a title “Undone” and a song “Undun”? That often undoes me: worrying that I’ve done something wrong, in any way.
I am not rewriting this post.What’s done is done and (I hope) no harm done. Here‘s the song:
Is anything left undone, for you, in this post? Also, what tends to make you feel undone? Will you respond to my questions today or leave that undone? And if you leave that undone, will this post help you leave all self-judgment and shame undone?
Here’s what’s left undone for me: I wish to name that I’ve linked to many previous posts today. Why? Because I’m proud of what I’ve done!
All doing and undoings here are now done. Many thanks to everybody, everywhere, who does and doesn’t do, including you.
* When I went to my work email, just now, to double-check the spelling of “Arvetta,” I received this message TWICE:
Your password will expire in 6 days!
Something else I haven’t done.
** Would anybody like to guess how many times I’ve used the word “What” in the titles of my posts? Right now, to me, it looks like an infinite number.
*** Is knowing who wrote and sang “Undun” done for you? If so, are you undone by puns?
Regular readers of this blog may know (1) the thought “anyone can whistle” is an example of some cognitive distortions (listed here) and (2) I love Stephen Sondheim (see here, here, and here).
In any case, here is the title song from Anyone Can Whistle:
I chose that video version (found here) of “Anyone Can Whistle” because:
I am fascinated with the process of rehearsing,
I’ve never seen the show on stage (even though I know the original cast album by heart),
In case it wasn’t easy for you to hear the words to “Anyone Can Whistle” in that video, here they are:
Anyone can whistle, that’s what they say, easy
Anyone can whistle, any old day, easy
It’s all so simple, relax, let go, let fly
So someone tell me, why can’t I?
I can dance a tango, I can read Greek, easy
I can slay a dragon, any old week, easy
What’s hard is simple
What’s natural comes hard
Maybe you could show me
How to let go, lower my guard
Learn to be free
Maybe if you whistle, whistle for me
Today, I was considering writing a post titled “Easy/Difficult,” inspired by many things, including:
Somebody at WordPress telling me they found the questions in yesterday’s post too difficult to answer.
Many people in therapy talking about what’s easy and what’s difficult for them.
My receiving praise, this week, for some things that come easily to me.
My focus on things that are difficult for me to do.
How human beings tend to dismiss the value of what’s easy for them to do and to magnify the importance of what’s difficult and hard.
How things might be easier for us if we let go of the need to be right. For example, there were no right or wrong answers to my questions, yesterday. (But, I neglected to mention that, so how would anyone know?)
Let’s see if I have any visuals that match today’s words.
Rats! I don’t see any images of anyone whistling on my iPhone. However, I did take these photos, yesterday, with varying degrees of easiness/difficulty:
Thanks to my son, Stephen Sondheim, and Sutton Foster; to the Fenway area of Boston (including the Rose Garden); to things that are easy and/or difficult; to people who do the best they can; and to you — of course! — for whistling by here, today.
This title of this post is inspired by a text exchange I had yesterday, with my friend Ray. Ray has shown up in this blog — along with his wife/my friend, Janet — in severalpreviousposts, one of them being shorter.
*
Here is the inspirational exchange:
Ray: Hi Ann! We’re looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. We’re wondering if we could meet a little earlier for brunch. Maybe 9? We may go to open houses afterwards and want to get an earlier start. Let me know what you think.
Me: 9 is fine. I’ll just have to write a shorter and crappier post. See you then!
Ray: Thanks for lowering your standards for us! See you at 9. It’s called the Town Diner in Watertown, right?
Me: Deluxe town diner.
Ray: Ooh! Deluxe!
Here’s what I’d like to point out about that dialogue:
Ray and Janet are back in Massachusetts, after several years away in Ohio. Although their absence may have been shorter than it seems to me, it was still too long.
My favorite line, in the exchange between Ray and me, is the one that is shorter than the others.
The other adjective I used in my message to Ray, after “shorter,” was on my mind because of yesterday morning’s post, which marked the first appearance of bird poop in this blog:
The words “shorter and crappier” could be construed as judgmental, couldn’t they?
This reminds me of one of several discussions — some shorter than others — I had yesterday with my cousin, Lani:
That’s Lani and her precious cat, Jewel. Lani and I haven’t seen each other for over a year, even though she lives a shorter distance from me than Ray and Janet.
Lani and I had a terrific time yesterday — talking about people and judgment, our parents and other family members, my blog posts (Lani is a faithful reader), and other topics (short and long). I resolve to see Lani again soon, after a much shorter time.
That would be wonderful.
Although this post is probably going to be shorter than my usual weekend post, I still have time to post more images from yesterday:
That’s from brunch, with Lani, at Brio in Chestnut Hill. I took that photo because the butter there was shorter (height-wise) than I remember ever seeing before at any restaurant.
On my way home from my too-short-time with Lani yesterday, I snapped this picture:
Later in the day, bf Michael and I returned to Fresh Pond in Cambridge, also featured in severalpreviousposts (some appearances being shorter than the others). Our walk yesterday was shorter than usual, because of a restoration project:
I remarked to Michael that I had never heard the term “off-wheel vistors” before. It took me a moment to realize I was a member of that group, despite the helpful illustrations. I guess that was a shorter way to describe “those who aren’t riding bicycles.” You know … walkers. (Or runners, too, I suppose.)
Despite the shorter route, we still saw several new and interesting things:
Maybe this post wasn’t so crappy, after all.
Thanks to Ray, Janet, Lani, Jewel, Michael, off-wheel visitors everywhere, story-tellers (and walkers), people with standards (no matter what their height), those who find their way home, anybody letting go of unhelpful judgments (for shorter or longer amounts of time), and — especially! — to you, no matter how short your visit today.
* You may notice that some of the photos in this post are shorter than others. WordPresser AmyRose, at Petals Unfolding, has told me that the size of my photos might be slowing down post-loading for my readers and eating up storage space. (Storage space DOES seem to be running shorter, everywhere.) Thanks for letting me know, Amy.
Another, shorter footnote: Those of you getting my posts via email — and finding me on WordPress Reader — might find those initial readings shorter today, assuming I successfully followed Mark Bialczak‘s helpful instructions about re-routing readers home, here.
During the past three days, attending a group psychotherapy conference, I witnessed people doing their best to let go of old patterns of judgment that get in the way of love — love of self and love of others.
But isn’t love ALSO a kind of judgment? Isn’t love just an extreme form of … like?
When we say, “I like this” and “I don’t like this” … isn’t that the essence of judgment? For example, when I’ve done mindfulness exercises with people, I’ve asked people to observe their likes and dislikes — of a piece of music, a painting, a shell, etc. — to let go of those likes and dislikes as much as possible, and just be present with the object.
But it’s our nature to judge, isn’t it?
I know it’s my nature, for sure, no matter what the title of this blog.
For example, I really liked this sock that Suzanne — another conference attendee — showed me yesterday:
When I told, Suzanne, yesterday, that I wanted to include that sock she’s knitting in this blog, she immediately put it on, with pride.
Which reminds me of one of the most helpful moments of the three-day weekend — this exchange between me and a group leader:
Me: I know that a typical pattern for me, in a group, is to engage quickly (opening my arms wide — in a Ta-Da! gesture) and then, at some point, to withdraw (drawing myself in, and looking down).
Group Leader: Why not try pride, instead of shame?
But in order to have pride (or love) — for ourselves and others — don’t we need to make some judgment about worth? And by making a judgment, can’t we easily flip into the other side of that: judging ourselves and others negatively?
I don’t know if I’m going to figure this all out today, before I leave for work, but I would like to tell you about some other highlights, from the conference:
Standing in a crowded room, alone, observing others interacting socially, and truly believing it was okay for me to just stand there, without having anybody by my side to talk to.
Dancing with an old friend, in a hallway, as his cell phone was playing “Dance with Me,” and not caring what other people might think.
Meeting somebody new, and learning from her that it was okay (and even beautiful) to take up space, even if you might feel stigmatized for your difference and your status within the group.
Being reminded you don’t have to see and hear everything, in order to learn.
Realizing, again, that it’s okay to be messy:
Thanks to Suzanne, Joe, and all the other teachers and learners at the NSGP annual conference; to Orleans (not the Little River Band) for “Dance With Me”; to people who do their best to let go of old and unhelpful patterns; to those who experience love, pride, and other human emotions; and to you — of course! — for visiting today.
Yesterday, Mark Bialczak, a fellow and well-ordered WordPress writer and reader, commented on my post, Day 509: Like, now, like so:
Go out today and smell some flowers no matter where they are?
And even though Mark softened the end with a question mark, he gave me an order.
When somebody gives me an order, I can:
hear it,
obey, automatically,
rebel against it,
entertain the possibility that it’s NOT an order (but rather a suggestion),
look at my options,
consider the pros and cons of each choice,
decide what to do.
Yesterday, as soon as I read Mark’s comment, I knew it was just what the doctor ordered. And if you (1) aren’t familiar with that idiom and/or (2) don’t click on links, that means:
Yes, that was exactly what I wanted or needed yesterday: to smell and see some flowers. So I thought of Tower Hill Botanic Garden, less than an hour’s drive away. And that matched Mark’s order, to a T.*
I took lots of pictures at Tower Hill, yesterday afternoon. I wonder how I should order those photos here?
Let’s start with this one:
Ooh! The sign tells me I’m not alone in wanting to organize, in order to simplify and make things more understandable. That connection with humanity gives me acceptance about whatever order I choose for these photos.
On the way home from Tower Hill, I passed by an open field. Something ordered me to turn the car around, stop, and inspect things more closely. This is what I saw:
I came back for that heart, with its orderly lines.
Here are two more shots of it:
Then, I noticed some things moving, near the heart. Here’s a zoom:
When I returned to my car, I saw some different birds:
I don’t know about you, but to me, it looks like the white guy is ordering the others around.
Thanks** to dictionary.cambridge.org, ducks, Google, hearts, Mark, those who order and are ordered in any way, Tower Hill, turkeys, and — last, but not least — to you, for dropping by here, today.
* “to a T” is another idiom, defined by Google as:
exactly; to perfection.
“I baked it to a T, and of course it was delicious”
